


To Breathe Again

by andquitefrankly



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki is Not Amused, M/M, god just kiss already, loki a hopeless romantic, persuasion au, tony quit playing games with his heart, what a loser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 12:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8624980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: Loki had met and fallen in love with Tony Stark nigh on 10 years ago. They’re forbidden romance discovered and destroyed, Loki has grown past it, citing it as a folly of youth. But when Stark returns, Loki realizes that he never truly stopped loving him. If only the same could be said of Tony.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEY!!!  
> It's been ages since I've written a frostiron fic. But I am back, WITH A VENGEANCE. This is a fic I've always wanted to write. Persuasion is my favorite Austen novel.  
> Want to give a shoutout to my bang artist for their amazing art which can be found [here.](http://gots-to-love-that-frostiron.tumblr.com/)  
> Hope you all enjoy :)

Lady Frigga died on a sunny, Wednesday morning, her youngest son, Loki, by her side. His face was streaked with tears, and in those last moments she held her son’s hand tightly, a hopeless reassurance. “Do not cry my jewel,” she said, voice hushed, weakened from the disease in her lungs.

How could he begin to stop his tears, he wondered, his mother, the single person in his life who loved him, encouraged him, understood him, was being taken away from him. His elder brothers were well into manhood, lucky enough to have had their mother for their childhood and beyond, but Loki, not yet fifteen, would feel her loss most ardently.

“Do not leave me, Mama,” he sniffed, resting his head upon her stomach, her free hand stroking his dark hair. _Do not leave me alone_ , went unsaid.

“We must all depart this world one day, Loki,” she told him. “We must all heed the call.”

Loki bit back a scoff, religion meaningless to him, no matter what comfort it brought his mother. She would abandon him for eternal salvation while he suffered here on the mortal plane, at the mercy of his father and brothers.

“Do not lose heart,” she said. “Remember, you are loved and have much love to give in return.”

“Mama,” Loki cried. “Please.” If he could, he would pull the illness from her lungs and swallow it whole, let it take him instead. If any lights were to be extinguished, let it be his own, let his mother’s burn eternally.

“Do not lose heart,” she repeated with her last breath, hand going limp in his grasp, her deep blue eyes gone dull and lifeless, a faint smile on her once pink lips.

She died on a bright, sunny, Wednesday morning, but to Loki, it felt as if the whole world had gone dark.

* * *

There was very little that brought Loki happiness.

His father, Sir Odin, was a cold, unfeeling man towards his youngest son, his pride and devotion limited to his eldest sons: Thor and Baldur.

Thor, had all the admirable traits of his mother that made her a beauty, but on him were handsome, paired with a strong jawline and an inviting smile. He was a large man, his shoulders wide and his muscles ample from constant exercise.

Baldur was much the same in physicality, but where Thor’s coloring was a bright gold, his was as deep as the sea. A Captain in the Navy, his skin was browned by the sun and toughened by the sea, his eyes a fierce blue to compete with the sky, his voice loud like a tempest.  

They were everything Odin could wish for in a pair of sons: strong, handsome, personable; their qualities were admired and much desired.

It was such good breeding that brought forth great disappointment in Loki’s being. With his slender frame and dark hair, he had not an ounce of coloring his brothers had, and where they were jovial, he was a taciturn young man, a sullen intellectual. All that could be forgiven, Odin told himself, had his son not had such a repellent personality, haughty and cold to any and all who attempted some form of attachment to him.

He had no friends to speak of, except for one when he was still eighteen, though it is said that the friendship was terminated on bad terms and should not, under any circumstances, be brought up in polite company, or otherwise.

Very few knew the whole story of the affair, and should the story ever be brought to light, would be the ruin of Loki and the Borrson name.

* * *

Loki watched from his window as his trunk was lifted onto the cart rather indelicately. If he had had the energy, he would have rushed down there and given the servants a stern talking to, but he was far too exhausted, too emotionally drained to even conjure up an iota of feeling.

Today was to be his last day at Asgard Hall. He had little attachment to the manor itself, only the memories that were ingrained in the halls and rooms. No matter how far he may leave, nor how often, returning home – for through it all, it was still his home – was a relief, as if he was wrapped in his mother’s arms once again.

It was Bath for them now, his father’s ailments no longer bearable, the soothing waters his only relief. Not that Odin would admit it. Bath, his father had commented one evening, was fashionable once more, thus sealing their fate.

They were to let the house, and Thor and Loki were to follow as the ever dutiful sons. That had been the plan until Baldur had sent a letter requesting Loki’s presence at Poplar Hall. Sigyn was nearing confinement, and who else was to keep her company through such a trying time but her beloved brother?

Loki supposed a month or so with his brother and sister in-law was far more agreeable than the rest of his life in Bath, unable to escape dinner parties or his over bearing father. At Poplar Hall, he’d be free from his father’s scrutiny, which was reason enough to accept.

Invitation accepted and the dates set upon, Loki removed himself from any responsibility regarding Bath. His opinion would matter not, both a relief and an annoyance, but it ended his daily headaches, which was much appreciated.

Loki fixed his coat and turned from the window, squashing down any surge of emotion that threatened to burst forth. Asgard Hall was no longer his concern; to dwell on it was simply childish. It was time to leave and it would forever more be simply a place he had lived.

He could hardly call it a home.

Thor hugged him tightly as they said their goodbyes, Odin watching with an exasperated eye roll. He climbed into the carriage and gave Loki a distant wave of the hand. “Send your brother our regards and congratulations,” he said.

“I wish to hear the moment my nephew is brought into this world,” Thor added, mounting his horse, looking dashing atop his white steed.

With that they were off, Loki standing amongst the servants, house and heart empty.

* * *

“My dear brother,” Sigyn sighed as Loki entered the drawing room of Poplar Hall, holding out her hands for Loki to hold.

She was a pretty woman of six and twenty with the sweetest disposition in all of –shire. She was already quite large, and Loki felt that she could easily topple over with only a slight touch. 

How she bore such a brutish husband as Baldur, Loki would never know.

“It is so good to see you,” she continued, patting the cushion on the settee beside her, waiting expectantly for Loki to sit. “I was certain Baldur had not sent my note and I was prepared to sulk for a fortnight.”

Loki did as she bid, taking in her dark brown eyes and golden curls framing her face. He was certain she knew no worry, had never felt sorrow. “You may sulk if you wish,” Loki said, “For I do not see how I am pleasant company.”

Sigyn chuckled lightly, a soft delicate sound that had charmed Baldur to marriage. It had little effect on Loki. “You are my dearest friend,” she said. “Even when you are unpleasant, I am content to have you by my side.”

“Do not let Baldur hear you,” Loki advised. “He’d grow jealous.”

Sigyn swatted him on the arm, groaning as she stood, a hand on her rounded stomach. “Any man who would be jealous when their child is growing within their wife is a fool,” she said. “Now come, I wish to walk about the gardens before I am confined for all eternity.”

It was her second child. The first was a curly haired boy by name of Randolf with his father’s brown hair and rounded nose. How she could bear to breed once more was unknown to Loki, but she was always a maternal type, that it didn’t surprise him all that much.

He held her hand at his elbow as he led her around the gardens, gifted to her on her wedding day from Baldur. She spent most of her time in the garden, her son at her heels. Baldur may be an idiot, but Loki would gladly admit that he knew his wife quite well.

“Who shall be the new tenants of Asgard Hall?” Sigyn asked, looking out at her flowers. It mattered not to Loki, and he said so. Sigyn held back her disappointment as she said, “I know you very well, Loki, though you will argue otherwise. At this moment, you are silently cursing any possible future tenant.”

“It is no longer my home,” Loki replied. “And I’m sure whomever chooses to make it their home will be sorely disappointed.”

Sigyn held back a sigh as the rest of their walk continued in silence.

* * *

A week was spent in pleasantries, or as pleasant as one can hope with Baldur as one’s host, until Sigyn’s confinement. Baldur had paced the floor, hands held firmly behind his back while Loki entertained his nephew, telling him silly stories and singing songs, to get his mind off his mother upstairs.

She had given birth to a lovely girl, and Loki congratulated her, though it was nothing to the way Baldur cried and smiled as he held his daughter to his chest, his son fighting to get a look.

“Uncle?” little Randolf asked some days later, trailing a wooden horse behind him on a string, the wheels wobbling over the stone path. He was at that age where he felt every word he spoke had great depth and meaning, and spoke only when truly necessary.

Loki looked up from his book in a distracted manner. He had found reading easily drowned out his niece’s constant cries.

“When – when you go home, I want to go with you,” Randolf stated. He dropped the string onto the ground and climbed onto the bench beside Loki.

“I don’t think you’ll like Bath,” Loki told him, putting his book aside. “And it’s so far away, you’ll never see your parents ever again.”

Randolf pouted, eyebrows pinched in thought. “I don’t want to take a bath,” he said.

“Bath is a town, not bath as in getting washed,” Loki explained, ruffling his nephew’s hair. “We’ll have to take a coach and it will take at least a day to get there. More if the road is rough.”

“Papa’s walked to your house,” Randolf insisted. “I have a big room when we visit. With a big bed.”

“And that house and that room and that bed belong to someone else now.”

“Who?”

Loki looked past the flowers and shrubs, where he could almost pretend he could see Asgard Hall. “I don’t know,” he said, lifting his nephew onto his lap. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”


	2. Chapter 2

The news came during supper by way of Baldur, who had been tasked with finding a tenant for Asgard Hall as quickly as possible. Sigyn was still confined to bed and Randolf was in the nursery, leaving Loki Baldur’s only audience.

“I have found someone for Asgard Hall,” Baldur declared as he bit into a potato, ignoring the look of disgust on Loki’s face. “An intellect of some sort, I do not know the details, but he is very wealthy and promises to make no changes to the estate.”

“Fantastic,” Loki replied, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Does this very wealthy intellect have a name, or are we to ignore him when we see him in town?” Loki certainly hoped there would be little reason to ever see him. He would be leaving in a month’s time and that would be the end of his story here in –shire.

“Stark,” Baldur said. “Anthony Stark. He’s an American – quite famous there I’ve heard. He’s got business in town I believe, I’m not too sure, but he was quite interested in Asgard Hall.”

Loki felt his heart stop and his breath catch. His brother had to be mistaken. It couldn’t possibly – Loki stood abruptly, his chair screeching across the floor. He excused himself and rushed out of the stifling dining room, pulling desperately at his cravat.

He shut himself in his room, head pressed against the door.

He was never supposed to come back. He was supposed to remain in New York. Was this some cruel joke? Did Stark know that he remained in –shire, or was he so certain that he would never encounter Loki, that he returned with as little pomp and circumstance as possible.

But if he hadn’t known, surely he would ride into –shire with a parade behind him, the conceited showman that he was.

Suddenly Loki felt eighteen once more, lost and confused and completely enamored of the handsome American.

Loki shakily sat on his bed, eyes on his trunk that held Stark’s letters, the joyous correspondence that had slowly bloomed into an illicit relationship. A friendship that meant more to Loki than even he had known at the time.

It had been so easy to fall in love. Stark was handsome, clever, charming, incredibly intelligent, and treated Loki as one would an equal. They had spent many hours cloistered in Stark’s workshop, spent their days and nights together, discussing the progress of man, the power of science, the possibilities of their vast intelligence, the way Loki looked under the moonlight with kiss swollen lips.

He had told himself he would burn his letters. But if Loki could not have the man, he could, at the very least, hold onto a part of him, even if it was his written word.

* * *

Loki awoke the next morning an empty shell of a man. He was emotionally drained, that not even his nephew’s incessant chatter could make him smile.

He had dreamt of Stark. That tanned face, those brown eyes, his ridiculous mustache. It drove him to distraction. Near ten years and Loki was still as infatuated as ever. No amount of denying could quell the want, the desire; heartbreak at his very own hand.

He sat with Sigyn, Aster sleeping upon her chest, attempting to make conversation. She could easily sense his distress and said, “Tell me what is bothering you, brother, for I cannot stand to see you so ill at ease in my presence.”

“That is a lie,” Loki stated. “You enjoy ruining my day.”

“You see right through me,” she said. “Now tell me, so I may further bring your day to ruin.” She adjusted Aster in her arms, realization coming to her. “Baldur has found a tenant.”

“He has,” Loki said. “He is seeing him at this very moment, and by nightfall there shall be a new master of Asgard Hall.”

Sigyn shook her head. “You are far too dramatic, Loki,” she told him. “I’m sure whomever it is, is very charming and agreeable. We shall dine with them in due time and you shall laugh at how ridiculous you were behaving.”

Loki wished he could share her easy disinterest, but panic had settled into his heart. Should he leave Poplar Hall he would surely find himself within Stark’s sights, open to his disgust and hatred. He could not bear the thought. It would be easier to live in solitude than to meet him once again.

Perhaps Stark would not even acknowledge him. He would look past Loki as if he were just another face, and that paralyzed Loki all the more. To be hated or to be ignored, those were the only options. He could hardly bring himself to believe he would be greeted with sincere delight. He had broken Stark’s heart most horribly, like the monster he had been accused of being.

He could do nothing more than wish for time to pass quickly. The sooner he was in Bath, the better for his constitution. Stark would no longer be a temptation, no longer haunt him.

He wished it could it be that simple, but the end of the week brought Sigyn’s sisters to Poplar Hall, home from school. They were silly girls of seventeen and nineteen, more concerned with ribbons and lace, and had a keen interest in the new tenant of Asgard Hall.

They had stormed into Sigyn’s room, a flurry of perfume and skirts, ignoring Loki to hover about their eldest sister, giving their niece half-hearted compliments in a rush to converse about –shire’s newest citizen. Sigyn placated them, as was her way, patting Loki’s arm in comfort, as if to remind him that he had not been forgotten.

“They say he is exorbitantly wealthy,” Ingrid said, wearing a feral grin.

“Who?” Sigyn asked, gossip in short supply as of late. Loki, though a dear friend, spoke very little of the doings of their neighbors. In that regard, her sisters were a delightful respite.

“Mr. Stark, of course,” Eira explained, frowning at Loki’s groan. “If our conversation is bothersome to you Mr. Borrson, you are welcome to leave.”

Loki grabbed a book from a side table, opening it to a random page and began reading. “Do not let my presence disturb you, Miss Eira,” he said. “I was, after all, here first.”

Eira nearly began a quarrel but Sigyn quieted her with, “Does Mr. Stark have any other redeeming qualities aside from his pocket book?”

“He’s very handsome,” Ingrid chimed in. “Dark hair and dark eyes and oh, Sigyn, the way he walks, as if he commands the world. It’s so very attractive.”

“You’ve met him then,” Sigyn said, casting a knowing look at Loki who seemed enraptured in his book. He may be able to fool her sisters, but Sigyn knew better. He was fuming inside at the thought of Asgard Hall’s new master.

“We saw him,” Eira said, “On our walk to the millinery shop. He was speaking with a red-haired woman, and Ingrid was half afraid that they were married, if not engaged, but father says that Miss Potts is his ward, and engaged to an officer of some sort in the States.”

“He’s quite famous, father says, back in New York. He has the entire city eating out of the palm of his hand. And he says that Mr. Stark is here in search of a bride,” Ingrid continued, sighing into her chair. “To be Mrs. Stark is my greatest desire.”

Loki snorted, earning a matching pair of glares from Eira and Ingrid. “I beg your pardon, but I find this all to be ridiculous fancy,” he said. “You’ve not even met the man, and already you’re half in love with him.”

“Leave them be,” Sigyn chided him. “I’m sure that he is a very amiable man, with far too much money and charm to not be a delightful edition to our little village.”

“I’m sure he has an unpleasant mole with a long hair on his face and breath so pungent that skunks count him as brethren,” Loki said, shutting his book and standing. “I have little patience for this idle chatter. Your silliness does you no credit, nor you, sister, for encouraging it.”

With that he left, hands clenched tightly at his sides as he stormed out to the gardens. The fresh air would do him good, he thought, but instead his anger seemed to grow with no one there to keep him grounded.

To think that Stark had gotten over him so thoroughly, ready to woo any and all silly young ladies that so much as looked at him. It was no surprise he decided on his home, his village, his relations. It was the ultimate revenge.

“Brother,” Baldur called, striding towards him, Randolf sitting atop his shoulders. “I have wondrous news.”

Loki resisted the urge to lose his patience, not wanting to frighten or upset his nephew simply because his brother was unable to read his emotions. “I’m sure I don’t care for it,” Loki said, turning for a walk down the path.

Baldur laughed, Randolf clutching tightly to his hair, little fingers digging into his father’s skull. Small mercies.

“I know that your sour disposition is the cause of only children for company, and I have therefore amended such a disaster,” Baldur said, matching Loki’s pace. “Sigyn is quickly on the mend, and when she is able to walk about, we shall have a dinner guest.”

Loki could feel his blood run cold. He did not – he could not –

“Stark is most eager to join us,” Baldur continued. “I must say, Loki, you did not say that you were acquainted with him. He told me so himself, not an hour past. I’m sure this dinner would be all the more agreeable to you, having to dine with an old friend.”

“I would hardly call us friends,” Loki stated coldly, continuing down the path towards the woods, his temper simmering to an even boil.

There was no escaping Stark, he realized, for someone new in the neighbourhood was to be spoken of for months, and one as respectable and desirable as Stark was worth the idle gossip.

He would simply have to grin and bear it until he was no longer needed at Sigyn’s side. A few weeks more and he would happily be miserable in Bath, with no one but his simple brother and cruel father. Even that was better than this torture.

To know the man he loved walked those streets he had walked so many years, lived in the house that he had lived, befriended those who had spurned Loki. Did he think of Loki at all, he wondered?

Had he crossed his mind, once or twice or even at all?

Loki had been eighteen, nothing but a child, enamored of the intelligent stranger who had treated Loki as if his thoughts were worth listening to. As if he had some worth.

But he wasn’t that foolish boy any longer. He was closer to thirty than he’d care to admit, no wife, no career, his boyish face grown into a thin, sharp, profile.

How would Stark have changed, in all these years? Loki had been of a same height during their acquaintance, but grew to great lengths in the following months. Would he tower over Stark now? Would his tan skin have grown browner? Did he have gray in his hair: proof of his age, or crow’s feet at his eyes, or prominent laugh lines etching his face?

He slowed his brisk pace, inhaling deeply. His answers could only be found upon meeting Stark once more. He couldn’t do it. He could not meet him once more only to be treated with cold politeness. He could not be present at that dinner party.

* * *

Sigyn’s strength steadily grew, that by the following Sunday she was willing to leave Aster with the wet nurse to attend church, causing a stir amongst her neighbors. Much congratulations were poured upon her and Baldur that Loki had managed to remain unnoticed.

The weeks prior had been filled with such regret to see his family gone from the neighborhood, though he could see how pleased they all were to be rid of him, if only he would leave sooner. He was never the desired son; it would be unseemly for them all to lie now.

The following evening was the scheduled dinner and Loki prayed and prayed the night before that he’d be struck dead. At least Stark would be forced to attend his funeral; let him cry over his grave, filled with regret of what could have been.

He awoke very much alive, though he was willing to debate on the matter, his temple burning with a fever. Sigyn was forced away, and he was left alone aside from a brief visit from Randolf who showed little concern for his beloved uncle except to ask him to take him fishing once he regained his health.

Baldur was tempted to cancel their dinner party, but Loki managed to find his voice to protest. It would be impolite to cancel on such short notice, and after all, Sigyn was most looking forward to meeting their neighbor, and her parents and sisters had been invited, it would not just be Stark left disappointed.

Reason had won and Baldur promised to keep their engagement and make his excuses.

Evening fell and the candle by his bedside was lit by a servant, who stopped by every half hour or so to exchange the wet cloth on his forehead.

The next morning, Loki awoke, throat sore but his fever broken, his cold all but forgotten.

He felt quite pleased with himself. He had miraculously gained and lost a cold in order to avoid Stark, and now it was a matter of waiting out the remaining weeks of his visit. He could easily hide himself away, make himself scarce whenever Stark was near.

It would be all too easy.

Unfortunately, he had not considered him appearing unannounced.

Randolf had grown bored of his toys and had decided on his uncle as his newest entertainment. He was riding atop Loki’s shoulders when Stark burst into the front room.

He was just as Loki remembered him. Time had been good to him; he hardly looked his age. His skin was just as tanned, his eyes just as brown, but he had hints of grey at the temples, a light sprinkling in his beard.

Loki stood there, Randolf kicking his shoulders, and said nothing, too much in shock to speak. What was there to say that could be said in public? Nothing.

His heart wanted, how it wanted.

“Brother,” Baldur beamed, stepping into the room, placing a hand on Stark’s shoulders. “May I introduce Mr. Anthony Stark. Or reintroduce.”

Stark bowed his head politely, exuding cool indifference as he plastered on a forced smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Borrson. I’m sure I would not have recognized you.”

He hated him. That now was obvious. Stark hated him completely. What love had been between them was gone, replaced by revulsion and hatred, and he had every right to hate him; but how it stung, how it burned, how it drove Loki to madness.

“I promise it is myself,” Loki replied, putting Randolf back onto the ground, meeting Stark’s eyes with a bitter stare. If he would not be met with civility, then he would not return it.

To think that they would meet here and now. There was no escaping the tension, the way Stark’s hands were clenched in fists at his side, how Loki’s heart beat rapidly in his chest. He had been unprepared, lulled in safety by his good fortune.

He should have known better.

“We are to go riding, Loki,” Baldur said. “You are quite welcome to join, is he not, Stark?”

“Who am I to deny him anything in his home,” Stark said.

Loki felt his temper rise, venom in his voice as he said, “But this is not my home, of which you are quite aware. I hope Asgard Hall treats you well.”

“Very well, thank you.”

“If you’ll pardon me,” Loki said, bowing stiffly. “I find that I promised my nephew a turn about the gardens.”

Randolf cheered as Loki grabbed his hand and stepped past both men, ignoring the feeling of Stark’s eyes boring into his back.

* * *

It was better this way, Loki reasoned that night as he lay in bed. They had met once more, and now he did not need to live in fear. He knew where they stood, how he would be treated. He need not fear Stark, he was as human as he’d ever been, though older and handsomer than ten years prior.

It was nothing, it meant nothing, and he was nothing but a floating ember.

From then on, it was impossible to escape Stark’s presence. He was a primary staple at the Borrson household, having become great friends with Baldur. His ward, a Miss Virginia Potts, was a sweet, red haired girl who got on splendidly with Sigyn and her sisters.

They had ingratiated themselves completely with the family, leaving Loki to gnash his teeth. If he went on a walk, Stark would be there with Baldur at his side. If he wished to spend a quiet evening with Sigyn, her sisters and Miss Potts would find their way to disturb the peace, removing him from her bedroom as if _he_ was the interloper.

His sole companion was that of Randolf, and even then, he too was taken with Stark, his tales of New York endearing him as a man of the world.

And while Stark and Miss Potts spent much of their time at Poplar Hall, the same could be said of the Borrson’s and relations towards Asgard Hall. Many a dinner had been had with Loki as a guest to his former home.

“It seems such a shame, Stark,” Baldur had mentioned on one such occasion, completely unaware of the strangeness of being a guest at his father’s home, “that a man as wealthy and successful as yourself should be unwed.”

He winked most auspiciously at his young sister in-laws, their giggles a high pitched sound akin to a banshee’s shriek. Loki aggressively stabbed a potato with his fork, imagining that he was spearing his brother’s head instead.

Stark grinned, nodding in agreement. “It is, I know,” he said. “Isn’t it, Pepper?”

“Most horrible,” she replied without a note of sincerity.

“But I must admit, that I am quite ready to fall foolishly in love with any young lady between the ages of eighteen and 30,” Stark said. “With Pepper leaving me for married life, I find that I need companionship now, more than ever.”

“What he means,” Miss Potts said, glaring at Stark, “is that he needs someone around to tell him how handsome and charming he is.”

Stark laughed, head thrown back, a hand on his stomach. “Yes, now that I am rid of you, I will finally get the attention I deserve,” he managed.

“And what type of woman would you like?” Sigyn asked. “An attentive one, no doubt, but surely you have an ideal.”

Eira and Ingrid sat in attention, batting their eyes and attempting to look pretty under the low light.

Seriousness draped itself across Stark’s shoulder’s, his grin turning grim as he stroked his chin hair. “I want what every man wants, I suppose,” he started. “Beautiful, intelligent, accomplished – but a strong sense of character is what I cherish most of all. A heart that is so easily swayed, fickle and untrue, is a bitter poison. To know that she loves me above all else, and that she will hold true, is my ideal.”

His eyes met Loki’s for one brief moment and in that moment Loki knew that what they were, could never be once more. That his fickle heart had affected Stark so deeply, so intimately, that he could not bear to be with anyone who could hurt him in so similar a manner.

He was as much an ideal to him as a worm in the mud.

Stark may hold Loki’s heart, but Loki had no hold on him.


	3. Chapter 3

The following day was a brisk, Spring morning, and Loki wished to take advantage of the sunshine to walk to the village. The exercise would do him good, and the time spent could easily put his troubled mind to rest.

Eira and Ingrid, constant guests, caught him just as he was leaving and attached themselves to him, much to his dismay. They may not have liked Loki, but that did not stop them from chattering the entire walk.

“Do you irritable women ever be quiet,” he demanded at long last, his patience run dry.

“You always were very charming,” said a familiar voice. Loki spun, finding Stark there, mud on his boots and his hair in disarray from the wind.

“Mr. Stark!” the girls crowed, swarming him, forgetting Loki completely. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” they asked.

“I was told you were walking to the shops,” he said. “And I couldn’t leave without seeing you lovely ladies.” He looked at Loki just a moment before stepping past him, Eira and Ingrid on each arm.

It had become Stark’s favorite past time: tormenting him. It was there in the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he purposefully looked at Loki while flirting with Ingrid and Eira. _This is what you could have had_ , his actions said. _I could have been yours_. _You could have been mine._

Once the village was reached, Loki happily parted ways with the group, knowing when he was not wanted. He quickly dove into the tailor’s shop, feigning need of a new coat to distract himself from Stark openly flirting with the girls.

An hour was happily spent with the tailor, his coat promised in a fortnight, and a bundle of new shirts under his arm. He went in search of Eira and Ingrid, knowing very well that should they become lost, Sigyn would have his hide.

He spotted Eira outside the millinery shop, but seemed to have lost Stark and Ingrid. A wave of panic washed over him. They were left alone, Stark no doubt using his charms to woo Ingrid, luring her into his bed and heart.

He rushed towards the shop, smiling at Eira who gave him a questioning look. She turned away from him, uncaring for his strange ways, to look closer at a bonnet on display, when he caught sight of Ingrid.

She and Stark were clustered in the back of the shop, just barely in view of the window. They seemed to be in secret conference and Loki could not help but step into the shop as quiet as could be, hiding behind a stack of ribbons to get a closer listen.

“I find it a bit strange,” Stark said, “that your sister should be so close to Lo – Mr. Borrson.”

“They are the oddest pair, for sure,” Ingrid said. “Papa was certain that he was to propose, but he never did. This was nigh on six years ago. He was furious, Papa was. Said he’d been leading her on, and that if he were a proper gentleman, he’d marry her like he ought. But Mr. Loki put up such a fight, and then Sigyn said that she couldn’t possibly marry him, it’d be like marrying her brother. Mr. Loki was to break off all connections with us, but Sigyn refused: she told Papa that he was her dearest friend, and she’d run away if she was not allowed to see him.

“It was really quite the scandal,” she giggled.

“But she married Baldur,” Stark said.

Ingrid hummed in acknowledgement, just getting to the most delectable bits of the story. “She did. Baldur, as you know, was in the Navy. A month or so after he returned, a very rich man indeed, Mr. Loki introduced them, no doubt to clear the air. With that, he and Sigyn could remain dear friends without any impropriety and Papa had the benefit of uniting our families.”

“And why did Mr. Borrson refuse to marry your sister?”

“Who knows? I imagine he thought himself too good. Him – a third son! He would have been lucky to marry Sigyn. But he’s always been like that. He’s rejected more than one lady in town, I can tell you that. Lily Vernet threatened to kill herself when Loki refused to dance with her at her coming out party. It was horrific!”

Loki strode out the shop, uncaring if he was noticed by Stark or Ingrid. That was not her story to tell. If he refused Sigyn it was because he could never love her as she deserved, of which she was aware. If Stark thought him cold and unfeeling before, now he must have fallen even further in his esteem.

The walk back to Poplar Hall was quiet. Loki had much on his mind, and it appeared that Stark did as well, for he did not throw out empty compliments, nor said anything particularly amusing in the half hour it took to walk back. The girls were equally subdued, unable to bring out Stark’s charm, and Loki’s sour mood dampening their spirits.

* * *

The weeks passed uneventfully, Loki eager to leave. If he had known what heart break he would have had to relive, he would have gone to Bath straight on, never mind Sigyn’s request.

Every day was torture. To see him, to hear him, to be within his presence but to have him out of reach. Stark was unattainable, and he reminded Loki of that every minute, every second they were in the same room as one another. He would belong to one of Sigyn’s sisters very soon.

He could not see how he could be happy in a marriage like that. They were hardly intelligent, their concerns that of worldly possessions, of their appearance, thoughts filled with silly notions. The Stark that Loki knew put up with very little nonsense.

Every day he sharpened his mind, hunched over his desk with designs of wondrous inventions, writing letters to science institutions to tell them that they’re wrong, wrong, wrong. He’d display his wit like a peacock did their feathers, strutting and preening for Loki’s admiration.

How he could lower himself to such inferior standards was beyond Loki. Was it simply to pain him, for it was working very well.

 Very soon he’d be gone, Loki reminded himself. His pains will be that of a different nature, and it would be for the best.

It was some days later that Stark invited them all to come with him to Lyme. He had business, he said, though he wouldn’t say what it was, and wanted them all with him. He insisted on it.

Sigyn declined the invitation, Astrid still far too young to travel far, and though she felt much revived since her confinement, felt it was in the best interest of her health to remain at home with her children. Loki was quite eager to remain as her companion, but she too insisted on his going.

Who else would act as chaperone for Stark and her sisters, and who else would be able to keep Baldur in line? There was nothing for it. He was to go to Lyme with them.

It was merely for a weekend, but Loki dreaded the thought. He would have no one for company but fools, and their leader would spend his time ignoring him as much as possible. He’d much rather leave for Bath all the sooner.

The ride to Lyme was barely tolerable. Stark and Baldur rode their horses, while Loki sat in the carriage with Eira and Ingrid, who were content to discuss absolutely nothing with an air of great importance. He sat there in silence, glowering out the small window, averting his eyes whenever Stark was in view.

As the hours ticked by, the girls fell asleep, and Loki was left alone with his thoughts, much to his great relief.

By week’s end Loki would be in Bath, never to see Stark again. He should cherish these last days. Stark may no longer look upon him with love, but at least he could say he was brave enough to see him again, to breathe the same air as him.

He was as burdened with a broken heart as he’d ever been, and he was a fool to think he was a better man for it.

He wanted; he wanted him still and it was driving him to madness. To think that had he not been such a fool, he could stand at Stark’s side, an equal. They could never reveal what they were, but Loki would know, deep in his soul, that Stark was his, and in turn, he was Stark’s.

To be done and over with this torment was Loki’s greatest desire. The sooner he was in Bath, the better; and never let him hear word nor see hide of Stark again.

* * *

They stayed at a small inn, and were greeted with supper upon their arrival. Stark excused himself promptly, citing business matters, though what business he could possibly attend at such a late hour was beyond them all.

The following morning was a windy, overcast day, but still, Stark insisted they go out and walk along the sea. They had but this one day to enjoy all that Lyme had to offer, and he would not let a bit of spotty weather keep them from their holiday.

They were joined by a Mr. Hogan, whom Miss Potts was quite pleased to see, being the man to whom she was engaged. He was a broad shouldered man, much like Loki’s own brothers, but with an inclination to frown and worry.

He had been in London some weeks, arguing the Royal Institute on Stark’s behalf, but retired to Lyme, prepared to return with their party to –shire.

Hogan and Baldur got on splendidly, leading their party along the seaside, followed closely behind by the ladies, leaving Loki and Stark to walk alongside one another.

They were silent, a bare nod of the head to acknowledge the other. There was a nervousness building up within Loki, waiting to burst out. Now – now could be the time, the moment. Say something, Loki wanted to shout. Say anything at all.

“How fares your father?” Stark asked, the question nearly drowned by the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore.

“Well, I suppose,” Loki answered, surprised for the attempt at conversation. Had his hatred ebbed, or was this his way of rubbing salt into the wound, for it was his father who had stopped him from making a foolish mistake, and it was his father he blamed for all his unhappiness. “Despite his age and ill health, he remains alive to torment me, same as ever.”

Stark snorted in amusement. They had spoken of their fathers more often than not with strains of anger in their voices, calls of injustice, demands for reparation. Such headstrong young men.

“You grew taller,” Stark frowned, eyes trained forward, no chance to see a strain of emotion in him.

“Yes,” Loki said. “I did.”

That appeared to be all the conversation Stark could stomach for he called to Miss Potts, asking the ladies which would like to jump from the rocks first.

This is what they were; Loki had come to term with it. Better to be stilted friends than spurned lovers. If this was all the reparation he was allowed, Loki would cling to it. Better this.

Better this.

“I wish to go again,” Ingrid announced, climbing up the wet steps, Eira and Miss Potts begging her to come back. “Catch me, Mr. Stark.”

They had tossed themselves quite wildly from the top of the stairs, Stark having recruited Baldur to catch the ladies, having more confidence in his friend’s strength than his own. Baldur caught his sisters and Hogan his betrothed, but now they were off, returned to their conversation, unaware of the danger Ingird had put herself in.

Stark tried to stop her but off she leapt, straight into Stark’s arms. Though caught, Stark stumbled backwards and onto his knees, a horrible crack echoing along the shore.

Ingrid sat up, her dress and bonnet mussed, unaware of the pain she caused Stark, until she stood to witness his body crumpled along the ground. “Mr. Stark!” she cried.

“You have killed him,” Eira shouted. “You have killed him.”

Loki rushed to Stark’s side, checking for a heartbeat, and then when he felt it, any obvious wounds. He had fallen sharply on his knees, and he checked them for lacerations, but found none, though he noticed a swelling in his left knee and when he touched it, the kneecap seemed to move along with his fingers. He must have dislocated it, Loki reasoned, but he could not tell with his trousers on.

There was a small contusion at his temple, bright red against his tanned skin. And in the back of his head was a deep gash, blood seeping out in a steady stream.

Loki removed his cravat and pressed it to the wound, lifting his head to settle on his lap. Around him, he could hear the women’s shrieks and Hogan shouting at them, demanding to know who had hurt Stark.

“Be quiet, all of you,” Loki shouted over them, settling them, sensing his capability above all else. “Hogan, you are better acquainted with this city: find a doctor, quickly, and bring him to our rooms.”

He nodded, off like a shot, his friend his sole concern.

“Brother,” Loki said, Baldur standing at attention beside him, “take hold of his legs and be careful. I’m certain he has damaged his knees. We are to carry him to the inn.”

 He looked at the sight of the sobbing sisters and looked to Miss Potts. She seemed to understand what he wanted for she led the girls away, arms wrapped around their waists, reassuring them of Stark’s recovery.

They caused quite the commotion at the inn, the other guests beside themselves with curiousity. Hogan was an excellent deterrent, and should any wish for the story, could easily find a weeping Eira or Ingrid who would most sorrowfully tell the story of Stark’s utter demise.

The doctor came and went, declaring that Stark would live, but little else in way of reassurance.

Loki was happy to see him go, giving his own assessment of Stark’s condition. He had indeed dislocated his kneecap, and Loki had made him a splint, wrapping his knee in a swaddle of bandages.

The cut on his head had stopped bleeding, but had left a mess of his hair, and Loki sat beside him and cleaned his wound as best as he could, making sure to clear out any rocks or dirt that had entered. It had begun to bleed once more, sluggishly this time, and Loki applied another bandage.

He would awake soon, Loki told himself, for that now was his sole worry. If Stark never awoke – no, Loki would not think of that possibility. He would awake. And when he did, Loki would scold him for his reckless behavior.

* * *

Tony drifted in and out of consciousness, a throbbing pain in his head too fierce to move or make a sound. Each time he awoke, he could feel someone by his side, touching him gently. Even the hum of their voice as they spoke, soft and gentle was like that of a dream.

He knew it; that touch, that voice. It was as much a memory to him as it was reality and it drove him to distraction.

When finally he awoke, fever plaguing him still, it was night, for he could see the candlelight dancing across his eyelids. He did not have the strength to open his eyes, nor move his body. He lay there, seemingly asleep when he heard that voice once more.

“Stop sniveling,” it said, harshly. It was faint, but Tony knew it like a well-worn blanket.

“I’m sorry, I am. I just – I’ve almost killed him.”

“You have,” the voice replied. “You very nearly murdered him, you silly little girl. And for what? Marriage? If this is how all the young girls in the world go about finding a husband, I for one am very glad I never fancied a wife.”

“Hush now, Loki. Can you not see how affected she is?”

“And what of Stark? Should he never open his eyes? Should he never walk again? What of him then? Would you still happily throw yourself at a broken man, one that you yourself created. Think of how you have affected him, and then speak to me of gentleness.”

Sobs burst forth and Tony could make out Loki, scoffing.

He had changed so little in these ten years, he realized, and yet, Tony could not say he knew a thing about him. Once they knew each other’s very souls, and now he was lucky if he could read his cold eyes, those impassive stares.

A concussed state was no time to dwell on these thoughts, he told himself as he drifted into unconsciousness, a cool hand touching his face.

* * *

They had met by pure accident.

Tony, tired of New York, tired of being sought out by over eager girls and their over bearing mothers, decided on quite a whim to visit Europe. He had never been, and heard tales of its wonder.

He was prepared to be disappointed, and had not quite yet made up his mind when he had found an inn at Southampton. The Navy was at port as well, and such a long and dreary journey with not a stimulating soul on the ship, had put him in quite the temper, and he seemed quite ready to fight the Admiral himself, when he overheard a young man argue with an officer at his table.

They seemed to be related, though they shared little in appearance, for the younger man enjoyed sneering whenever he was called ‘brother,’ choosing to treat his brother as he would a simpleton. He would take no part in the clergy, nor join the Navy, as the officer seemed to be persuading him to do.

He was to remain at school, for as long as he so chose and no amount of meddling would sway him.

The officer, put out, had left, and Tony felt now was the perfect time to introduce himself. He had slid into the vacated seat and said, “I could not help but overhear – ”

“Yes, how hard it must have been for you, as you sat at the nearest available table and lent your ear to my conversation,” the young man had interrupted, unimpressed.

And at that moment, Tony knew that if he did not have him in his life, and in his heart, then life would not be worth living.

* * *

Stark awoke once more some three days later, his eyes glazed and his temple feverish.

Loki had, by some miracle, convinced the young ladies to return home to –shire, and Ingrid that any affection Stark might have had for her had dissipated the moment his head had cracked against the rocks.

It was a minor victory, for if Stark should die, then it mattered not whether she remained or not. He would be a martyr for her sake, and she would weave romantic tales of their affair, choosing never to love another. Loki knew her well enough to know that should he die, she would choke his memory until not even Loki could breathe at the mention of him.

The doctor returned, but was of little help, and Loki escorted him from the inn, choosing to put Stark in his own care. At the very least, he could do nothing to harm him further, unlike the other members of his party. Miss Potts and Mr. Hogan remained as well, and Loki would not send them away, for they were Stark’s companions and friends, and it would make Stark happy to know they would not leave his side.

He had much time to think as he placed cool cloths on Stark’s head and changed bandages.

It was foolish for him to remain as doctor, he chastised himself, but if he could have this; only this as his last memory.

Had he gone with Stark ten years past, this would be where he belonged, not a borrowed place to be returned at first sign of recovery. Starks friends would be his friends. Stark’s happiness would be his happiness.

He was such a foolish young man, to allow his father to dictate his decision, to not fight when he wanted nothing more than to follow the only person he had ever loved.

 


	4. Chapter 4

When Stark awoke, Loki was halfway to Bath.

The danger had passed, and though Loki knew he ought to stay and see Stark through his recovery, his heart could not bear to be in his presence any longer.

Miss Potts and Mr. Hogan would be his company and nurse, and he was certain that Stark would not be pleased to learn he had been his doctor. It would be difficult to hate someone who had saved your life.

It was best to leave it all behind.

He had returned to Poplar Hall, reassured everyone that Stark still lived, and then put his trunk upon the mail coach, saying farewell to his brother, and dearest friend.

He spent a day and a night, rattling within the coach, strangers resting their heads upon his shoulders, starting conversation that he did not wish to partake in, and thinking of what he had left behind.

Loki arrived early in the morning to Camden Place, much to his father’s displeasure. Eight in the morning was far too early for a Sunday morning, he complained in greeting.

Thor looked quite pleased to see him, and he looked quite well. Both brother and father were as healthy as ever, and it was of no surprise to Loki, who knew their spirits increased the further he was away.

They entreated after Baldur and Sigyn and their newest addition, which Loki reassured them were doing quite well. Thor yawned, and insisted on breakfast, the conversation no longer Loki’s to lead, and as quickly as that, he was forgotten.

His adventures were nothing compared to theirs, Sir Odin mentioned offhandedly. They were quite sought after in Bath, he boasted, that many families left their cards in wish of an introduction, and no matter how many they saw, more and more piled upon the table.

Bath was everything they could possibly hope for. Fashionable for Odin’s tastes, and the ladies so very pretty and genteel, Thor declared.

He had pink cheeks and he would not look up from his plate. It was plain to Loki that he had made acquaintance of some young lady, for that was the look of love. Thor had fallen in love many times, and Loki wondered what horrid woman he had attached himself to now.

There was nothing for it, he would have to meet her, and break any possible understanding, or any hope for one.

Breakfast eaten, Loki excused himself and directed to his room, where he slumped onto the bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

His days at Camden Place blurred into one another, an endless drone of dinner parties, balls, theatre, and walks around the pump room. There was no escape from idol entertainments and poor company.

And Thor, thinking himself a most helpful brother, would take him upon excursion after excursion, introducing Loki to his friends, in hopes of creating a brotherhood of sorts.

They were all quite attached to one another, and Loki felt all the more alienated. He had no friends of his own, no privacy in his room, nothing but a trunk full of old books and slow received letters from Sigyn at Poplar Hall.

He had, however, met the young lady of whom Thor was infatuated.

Miss Foster was a sweet girl of four and twenty, with big brown eyes, and could be found on her Uncle’s arm, a professor of mathematics at Cambridge. She was really very pretty, but was unable to hold a conversation very long, for her mind would wander most horribly, and would begin speaking of mathematics or a question she forgot to write in her letter to Herschel.

It was a great surprise to Loki, who had witnessed many love affairs of Thor’s, and each young lady were as simple as they were beautiful. It was refreshing, and Loki found in her a companion, though one that also included Thor.

Therefore, it came as somewhat of a surprise one morning, to be told Miss Foster was awaiting him in the parlor. She had no cause to call on him, and he being alone in the house, was considered most inappropriate.

He greeted her cautiously, unsure of what she desired, only to be told that she understood that he was of a scientific mind, same as she. She had joined her Uncle, Dr. Selvig, to Bath due to him having a bad case of rheumatism, and was loath to find that there was hardly a university, nor an intellectual society in sight.

She was hard pressed for companions, and it come to her attention through Thor, that Loki had studied at Oxford until very recently, and surely he missed such an environment, same as she, who had grown accustomed to daily visits from her uncle’s peers.

It was an innocent enough visit, and Loki was happy to sit and discuss whatever she pleased, though she had a strong affinity for astronomy of which Loki knew very little. Upon discovering this, Miss Foster gasped, and grasped his hand, saying, “Then I shall teach you this very moment.”

Henceforth, Loki and Miss Foster could be found conversing in dark corners during dinner parties and dances. She would hold onto his arm as they walked around the Pump Room, paying no notice to any of their acquaintances.

And rumor spread quite quickly of their esteemed attachment to one another.

Miss Foster did little to dissuade the rumors, declaring gossip to be the root of evil, and it was a root entrenched far too deep into the ground.

* * *

Three weeks passed in this manner, Thor growing all the more worried, casting sorrowful looks at Loki, as if he could somehow explain why he was stealing Miss Foster from him. It was such an idiotic idea, that Loki resolutely ignored him.

Did Miss Foster not laugh and giggle at his brother’s attempts at wooing? Did she not dance every dance with him? Loki was merely a resting point.

How he constantly attracted these young woman, he did not know, for the same occurred with Sigyn, and look at them now: the dearest of friends.

He could not hold Miss Foster in the highest regard, as her taste in men belied her intelligence, much like Sigyn. He could, however, state that she was a reasonable young woman with a sharp mind and time spent with her was not wasted.

With a companion by his side, Bath was made tolerable, but still, his heart and mind remained in –shire.

He could only wonder how Sigyn fared, or his niece and nephew, whether Ingrid had given up home on Stark, whether he had quit the neighborhood.

He could not spend his days fretting over Stark’s future, but fret he did. Stark was healing well upon his departure, but it was possible he would suddenly turn for the worst, and be dead this very moment. Perhaps he would never have use of his leg again, and become a cripple.

It was too dreadful to think.

His fears were acquiesced a few weeks after making Bath his home.

His father held a dinner party, only those close friends and acquaintances, but still the number ran high, and Loki found himself isolated from the other guests, for they were no acquaintances of his.

Thor sat surrounded by his friends at the card table, Miss Foster sitting prettily by his side, a horrible whist player by all accounts, and enjoyed watching for Thor’s sake. Loki had half a mind to join them, but thought better of it, for they would no doubt accuse him of cheating, and then the party would turn sour, his father red in the face with anger.

He chose instead to sneak out, the hour late. No one noticed as he left the parlor, undoing his cravat sluggishly. He thought only of his bed, tiredness slouching his shoulders, his hair drooping inelegantly. It was then that there came a knock at the door.

Loki stood in the foyer and blinked. It was far too late for visitors, and those that would visit were already here. He decided to answer it, and stepped back in surprise to find Stark at his door.

His face was haggard, tired, his wavy hair limp and lifeless, clothes wrinkled and stained. He held a cane, his hand white as he grasped it tightly.

“Anthony,” Loki breathed, reaching out a hand only to stop himself. There was nothing there between them. He cleared his throat, looking just over Stark’s shoulder to see a carriage, an impatient horse pawing the ground. “Stark, what brings you here at this time of night?”

Stark looked at him, but said nothing, and Loki was beginning to believe him to be an apparition when he spoke. “Mr. Borrson, I beg your pardon. I did not mean to wake you.”

“You will find that no one is asleep, least of all me,” Loki replied, opening the door further. “Would you like to come in?”

“No,” Stark said, shaking his head. “I simply came to say thank you. Miss Potts informed me of – well she called you my savior. So thank you, Loki, for saving my life.”

“I did very little,” Loki said. “But your gratitude is much appreciated.”

Stark looked down at his shoes, and tapped his heel with his cane twice. “May I call on you tomorrow?” Stark asked, looking up. “I’m quite new to Bath, you see, and I would like very much to renew our acquaintance.”

“I saved your life,” Loki responded. “I rather think that makes it a friendship renewed.”

Stark smiled. Saying his farewell and promises of returning on the morrow, he limped down the stairs and into the carriage.

Loki’s face felt warm, and his heart nearly burst out of his chest until a wave of laughter reached him from the parlor. He rushed up the stairs to his bedroom, nearly slamming the door in his haste.

He could not believe his boldness, nor Stark’s kindness. To think that he would come to Bath to see him.

He shook his head. It was impossible that was the true reason. He no doubt came for the healing waters, for his injured leg. There was no hidden motive.

Still, Loki fell into a restful slumber, hoping beyond hope that their acquaintance could be renewed, if not with the same amount of love and devotion, then with a certain amount of decorum and civility.

* * *

_Ten years earlier_

 

_“What is that?” Borrson asked, his head quirked to the side, his green eyes shining from the sunlight reflected across the pond. Galatea; brought to life before his very eyes, made for him and him alone._

_He was Patroclus, for when he saw him, Tony laid upon him a tenderness never before exhibited. There was nothing he would not do for him, to battle he would fight, until his last dying breath._

_Borrson was the Sun, and he was nothing but a poor worshiper, with nothing to offer but devotion._

_“A horseless carriage,” Tony replied, snatching his notebook from Borrson’s hands. “What else?”_

_They sat atop a lonely hill, their horses grazing some distance away. The geese flew overhead, honking in greeting. A pastoral scene to imprint this moment in Tony’s mind forever._

_“I thought perhaps you had been drawing in the dark,” Borrson laughed. “I could not make head nor tails of it.”_

_Tony snorted, playfully elbowing Borrson in the stomach._

_They had become fast friends following the evening in the inn. A fortnight come and gone, and Tony could not bear the thought of Borrson – no, Loki – leaving. If he could somehow make him stay here, in Southampton, then they could continue as they were._

_“I bid you good luck,” Loki said, once their laughter subsided. “And I hope you will send me news of your failure.”_

_“Your lack of faith encourages me all the more,” Tony replied. Then, quietly, as they watched the ducks paddle across the water he said, “Come with me.”_

_Time seemed to stand still, Tony could not breathe, nor was he sure he ever would again. The breeze came to a standstill, and even the ducks had sense enough to stop their quacking._

_“Where?”_

_“London. New York. Anywhere.”_

_Loki lay down, uncaring for dirtying his rich clothing. Tony looked down at him, painting the contours of his face with his eyes. Were he an artist, he would paint a thousand portraits with Loki’s visage, and none of them would be able capture his beauty, his smile, his heart. It would be a cold substitute._

_“I can’t,” Loki said, though there was no truth in the statement. He very much could._

_“Would being my assistant be that dreadful?” Tony asked, grinning as Loki laughed. “I promise to be a kind and merciful master.”_

_“I am certain that I should never sleep, nor eat well,” Loki chuckled. “I would be following you around, begging you to act civil.”_

_Tony leaned ever closer, blocking the sun from Loki’s face, his hair drifting downwards, reaching for what it could not have. “You are hardly a good example of civility.”_

_Loki hummed in delight, and suddenly, Tony was pressing their mouths together, quick and chaste, it could hardly be called a kiss. Just the simple press of lips._

_As he pulled away he saw the look of shock on Loki’s face, cheeks reddened from anger or embarrassment, Tony could not tell. He sat up, hands clenching at tufts of grass._

_This was the end, for there was no other outcome._

_“You need not toy with me,” Loki finally said. “I know it is very humorous to tease me, but whoever has put you up to this, whether a cruel friend, or simply a game you devised as we met, I tell you now that you have succeeded in humiliating me. Congratulations.”_

_He stood, fixing his coat and bowing in retreat, but Tony could not let him go. Not like this. Did he think that he was playing with him?_

_“It was no joke,” Tony said, grabbing Loki’s hand. “I am not so cruel. I thought you would know my character; do I seem capable of such cruelness? I am enamored of you, Loki. I wish to have you by my side, as companion, for as long as you would have me.”_

_Loki breathed deeply, fingers twitching in Tony’s grasp. “You continue your jest,” Loki said. “And I am fool to hear it.”_

_“You are not a fool, Loki.”_

_He looked at Tony then, eyes bright with unshed tears, and in that moment, Tony had never seen a more beautiful sight._

_“I find,” Loki started, only to pause for a moment, taking a step closer. “I find that I am in danger of loving you very much.”_

_Tony could find no words for such a confession. He reached for Loki, brushing a stray strand of hair from Loki’s face. He leant forward, their noses touching, waiting for Loki’s permission, waiting to be allowed this moment of happiness._

_Loki closed the gap so tenderly, so cautiously, that it was as if kissing him was the only air Tony needed. Soft lips touched his, breathing him in, memorizing the shape of his mouth, the taste of him._

_They parted slowly, resting their heads together, hands gently touching the other’s body, as if in fear that the other would disappear._

_Loki might have been in fear of falling in love, but Tony was certain that love had made its home in his heart, nestled like a dove, cooing softly at his beloved._


	5. Chapter 5

Loki awoke the next morning with such lightness of heart, that Thor had described him as giddy. Sir Odin had taken one look at him, and dismissed him completely. He was acting completely out of character, and his father would have none of it.

This mattered little to Loki. Stark was to come today as a friend. Whatever coldness had between them dissipated completely, and though no longer lovers, at least he could still have some part of Stark.

Thor left for a walk with Miss Foster, and Odin to the waters, that Loki was left alone to pace back and forth across the library floor. They had not agreed upon a time, but surely Stark would make an appearance sooner rather than later.

It seemed that Stark had not been as eager as Loki, for he chose to appear later. Loki was quick to forgive; he had ridden into town the night before and needed his rest.

What he could not forgive was his standoffish demeanor. He had thought that they had made amends, and yet, there stood Stark in the doorway, the sun cresting behind him, the sky painted pink and yellow, face turned down into a frown and cold eyes.

Good evening, Stark had bit out, as if it were a true burden to speak pleasantries to him. He refused entry to the house, and left just as quickly as he had come, his cane tap tap tapping against the pavement as he stalked away.

Loki was in quite the state of shock that he could do nothing more than stare after him. For this he waited? For this he had worked himself into a state that he could neither eat nor drink?

He slammed the door, the house quaking under the force, ignoring the shouts from his father as he stormed to his bedroom.

He was an idiot. A hopeless idiot. And Stark was the worst of all. To think that he would play with his emotions so easily, so effortlessly. Had ten years truly contorted him into such a cruel, thoughtless man? It was unbelievable, yet Loki was witness to the proof.

Henceforth, Loki would have nothing to do with Stark, nor any person acquainted to him. There would be no more childish dreaming and hoping. If strangers he wished them to be, then strangers they would be.

* * *

They met once more some days later by pure accident. It had begun to rain, and Thor, the champion of his lady love, rushed off to find a cab, leaving Loki and Miss Foster within a book shop, promising to return promptly.

And who should enter the shop upon Thor’s leaving but Stark himself, dripping water onto the floor, his hair curling at his temples.

Loki ducked behind a bookshelf, praying that he had not been seen. He needn’t have worried on that account, for it seemed Stark was far too preoccupied with wringing his coat of water, much to the chagrin of the shop owner.

He was certain that at any moment Stark would wander the aisles of books, leaving Loki free to make his escape upon his brother’s return, only for Miss Foster to deter his plans.

He had abandoned her by the window to keep her occupied with her beloved’s return, but she had been very dissatisfied with such a responsibility, for she had snuck up behind Loki, saying loudly, “Is that not Mr. Stark?”

The man in question looked up and set his eyes upon them both, curious expression forming into a frown, before righting itself once more into placidity. It was with an impassive expression that he greeted them, Miss Foster unaware of the frigidity between their parties.

Loki wished for nothing more than his oaf of a brother to return to escort them safely from present company.

“You wouldn’t be that Miss Foster,” Stark inquired, “the niece of mathematician, Dr. Selvig?”

“I am indeed the very same,” she exclaimed. “How surprising to find you here in Bath, of all places. I had heard rumor that you were in London. My uncle was displeased beyond measure.”

“I do hate to displease. Perhaps I heard wind of a darling angel in Bath, and here I swooped to catch sight of her in a book shop, while I slowly died of pneumonia.”

“If you did not die from a blow to the head, I fear nothing could kill you,” Loki bit out, much to Miss Foster’s great surprise. Stark said nothing, pursing his lips in discontent.

Let him be discontent, for he had made Loki’s life nothing but unbearable, and if he thought he could shamelessly flirt with Thor’s intended right before him, then he knew nothing of Loki. He was not one to be trifled with.

“Mr. Borrson,” Miss Foster gasped, “I knew you to be gifted with a sharp tongue, but cruelty is quite the surprise.”

“Then be glad you are promised to my brother, and not I,” Loki returned, glaring out the window in hopes of spotting Thor.

Miss Foster blushed, urgently explaining to Stark that it was an understanding, that no promises had been given as of yet. Stark, however, did not hear a word, his entire world centering on Loki.

He could not have misheard. The words had come from his very mouth, flitting in Stark’s head in urgent circles. To think that it was Thor that was engaged, and not Loki.

“He has finally come,” Loki breathed, curtly giving his goodbyes to Stark and leading a red faced Miss Foster out the door and into Thor’s waiting arms.

Stark, however, could not let the conversation end. Not like this. He had been cruel for cruelty’s sake, choosing to believe idle gossip instead of the word of the person whom he cherished most in this world.

“Loki,” Stark said, grabbing hold of his wrist. “I – ”

“Good day, Mr. Stark,” Loki replied, yanking his arm free and into the waiting cab.

* * *

He had waited and waited. It was the waiting that had done him in.

Tony had waited day and night, days upon days for Loki’s arrival, and he never came.

What _had_ come was a letter.

_Mr. Stark,_ it had read _, I beg your pardon,_ _but I find I am unable to join you to America. I see now that the relationship we had begun was, and remains, unnatural and ill conceived. I hope that your journey is safe, and you arrive in New York in good health._ _Regards, L. Borrson._

It was cold, lifeless, devoid of all love and affection he had once thought to be true. It had been a ploy, he saw it now. Such an innocent youth, toying with his heart. Innocent! He was a true libertine.

How many other such men had fallen for his sweet eyes, the sad downturn of his mouth, his soft, supple lips. How many other fools had found themselves enchanted, only to be spurned.

He had been played for a fool, and how easily he had been charmed. Never again, he decided then, would he let his heart dictate his mind, nor to hand out his heart so easily.

Loki’s betrayal had numbed him completely, left him a wreck of a man. The man he had been was no more.

Ten years he dwelled, his heart poisoned, his anger festering until he could take no more. He would return, he vowed, and break Loki’s heart in turn.

It was a stroke of fate that he took a home in Loki’s neighborhood, made all the richer by knowing that it was the same home Loki had grown up in. To know that tragedy had struck him and his family had brought Tony great pleasure.

There was talk in the village of the Borrson’s leaving for Bath, Sir Odin’s health in question, and Tony was momentarily disappointed. He had come so far only to find the object of his disdain nowhere to be found.

What luck, then, to learn not moments later that Loki, the youngest son, remained in –shire with his eldest brother. He would not have to travel much further than down the lane to set forth his plan.

Loki had swept into his life, or rather, he had swept him into it, until there was nothing more Tony wanted but his young man.

He would do the same, Tony reasoned. He would charm his way into the affections of Loki’s brother, the very same man who had made Loki so cross those years ago. He would befriend him and his family, become so unbearably close to them all, remaining just out Loki’s reach.

Surely it would drive him mad to know that he was a terrible flirt, a flighty creature without a care for Loki’s feelings.

What he had not expected was such a changed man. His face still gaunt from sickness, but just as handsome – no, more so; tall, reaching unknown heights, he towered over Tony, and yet he looked so  small, unhappiness written so clearly on his face; his green eyes less bright, his dark hair holding little shine. Had love blinded him, bringing forth beauty and youth upon his visage, or was this the work of time, not even Loki immune to its ever ticking hands.

And so days became weeks, and Tony took great pleasure in how Ingird and Eira fawned over him, eager to please him, preparing themselves to become Mrs. Stark, and all the while it was as if the idea was completely tolerable to Loki.

He had truly meant nothing to him, it was plain to see, and yet Tony could not stop his traitorous heart from hoping beyond hope that they could repair their acquaintance – could once more call each other friends, if not lovers.

He had refused marriage, had no friends, refrained from basic civility towards his neighbors, surely there had to be a reason for closing himself off from others. Perhaps he retained those same feelings. Perhaps it was love that kept him melancholy.

Lyme had opened his eyes completely.

Love was Loki’s only motivation, he knew now. What other reason would he cling so tightly to his life? Suddenly, Tony could breathe again, lying in his sick bed, knowing beyond reason that Loki loved him still.

He had never hated Loki, his heart still sung for him, still called for him, still yearned for him. There was no other person that could ever hold his heart as Loki had; and he was determined to make him see. He would follow him to Bath, he decided once his health regained, and announce his love.

It was the rumors that had done him in once more. Rumors of a Borrson promised to a girl in town, her beauty worthy of poems and her disposition so sweet she was the envy of Bath.

Love was impossible. His happiness once more unattainable, Loki the source of his constant frustration.

But no more. No more. 

* * *

Loki had returned home in a rage.

He could not speak to Thor, nor Miss Foster, the ride home terribly tense, his mind consumed with Stark.

He had been cast aside not days before, and suddenly Stark wished to reacquaint himself? He refused to take part in this game any longer. Loki had found himself the loser some time ago, and could no longer foolishly hope.

He was not to be taken for a fool. He was done with love.

Therefore, it came as a great surprise to be fetched from his room not an hour later to find a soaking wet Stark dripping water in the parlor, much to his father’s chagrin.

“He’s ruining the carpets,” Odin sniffed, as he left Loki alone, glaring at their guest as he passed. The door clicked loudly behind him, and Loki’s fury found itself once more.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Stark began, taking a step forward, his shoes squelching.

Loki huffed, “Then you hope in vain,” cursing under his breath as he went to the door and shouted for a servant to bring a towel. Once obtained, he slammed the door shut and threw the towel at his sopping guest.

“What do you want,” Loki demanded.

Stark took a breath, and then another step towards him. The damp towel hung limply in his hand. “I love you,” he said.

He came closer, dark hair pasted to his forehead, water dripping down his nose. His brown eyes shown bright. “I love you,” he repeated. “I cannot fight it any longer. I have loved you as much as I had ten years ago, and I find myself unable to contain my heart.”

He looked up at Loki, pressing a hand to his heart. “I must – I must know whether you feel the same,” he said.

“I – ” Loki began, overwhelmed with emotion. He had not expected such an outburst. His anger dissipated, and was suddenly met a rush of happiness. To think that he had not loved in vain.

He felt his legs losing their strength, and suddenly Stark – no, Anthony – was at his elbow, leading him into his father’s armchair. He knelt at his feet, holding his hands tightly in his own. Loki could only stare in wonder at how pale his skin was to Anthony’s. How smooth his hands, compared to his work roughened ones.

How different their lives were now, and yet still entwined by the calling of their hearts.

“Loki,” Anthony said, wiping a stray tear from Loki’s face. “My love.”

“A day has not passed since that folly of my youth that I did not think of you,” Loki managed to say. “I lived in agony that you hated me. That you had been glad to be rid of me. My heart had been taken from me, and I was left a prisoner to the very man who had torn it from my chest.”

“You love me,” Anthony smiled, pressing soft kisses to Loki’s hands. Water dripped onto his fingers, deep into his skin, burrowing within him, his heart holding him.

Loki could not utter a word, his happiness too great. He leaned his forehead against Anthony’s own, breathing him in – oh and to breathe again, such miracles were at work – relishing this feeling of bliss.

“I love you,” Loki finally said, petting Anthony’s head, looking into those deep, brown eyes. “How I love you.”

Anthony stood, pulling Loki with him into an embrace, water seeping through his clothes. They stood there wrapped in one another, for what felt like ages.

“Come away with me,” Anthony said as he pressed a sweet kiss onto Loki’s neck, too short to reach his lips.

“When?” Loki gasped, clutching to his wet coat, his eyes turned to the heavens. By Jove, he had never dared to dream.

“Tonight,” Anthony breathed against him.

A gentle slide of lips against his sternum. A press to his chin. His breath so loud in the room.

“Yes,” Loki answered. He took Anthony’s face in his hands. “Yes,” he repeated, lips brushing against one another, a slight hitch of breath, then the soft press of lips, an addictive wetness.

“Yes.”

* * *

It’s said that Sir Odin’s youngest son disappeared rather suddenly, his belongings disappeared from the house in Camden Place, and no hint as to his whereabouts.

There is a rumor, of course, that he had left behind a simple note, stating that he was eloping with a woman of his acquaintance, and that he should never return. It was quite the scandal, and it drove Sir Odin to near madness, to think that a son of his would ever cause such a stir.

Sir Odin scratched his name from the family registry, and refused to speak his name. As far as he was concerned, his wife had only given him two sons.

Where he was or what he was doing was no concern of his. He had nearly ruined his family ten years past, and it was quick thinking on his part that had saved them all. There was no saving from this, Sir Odin knew.

In a similar manner, Loki brushed aside any thoughts of his family as he boarded a ship to New York, Anthony at his side.

He was filled with much happiness and much love, and his days henceforth remained thus.


End file.
